Unseen, Unspoken, Unnoticed
by DearWriter
Summary: One-shot: Unable to sleep, Regina attempts to mull over causes to her insomnia. However, she finds herself distracted by a certain blonde sharing her bed, but not in the way she thought she would. [SwanQueen/SWEN]


Regina shifted restlessly onto her side, her sleeveless silk top bunching up around her middle as the annoyance of consciousness creased her brow. With a slight huff she slowly opened her groggy eyes to greet darkness; it could barely be past 3am judging by the play of light and shadow across the ceiling. Why was she awake? She wasn't hot, or sweaty, or alert. In fact she was pleasantly exhausted thanks to a rough midnight snack. She always slept through the night after Emma Swan—Emma! Regina's head whipped to left, eyes momentarily wide with anxiety until a mass of tangled blonde curls flooded her vision. Emma was still here. Asleep. With her…_again_.

She pushed that last bit out of the forefront for later overthinking, not now Regina, she kept telling herself. She was allowed to enjoy the warmth of another body moving intimately against her own; she had earned that pleasure. Regina eyed one of Emma's long legs peaking out from the Egyptian cotton sheets; yes, she had earned _this_ particular pleasure.

So why was she awake? Regina continued to gaze at the woman beside her as her own nimble fingers sought out those blonde tresses and wove through the strands like a child attempting to trace ripples upon a watery surface. The action was hypnotic, and effectively calming; this was partially why Regina enjoyed doing it. Nothing else seemed to clear her mind and settle her discordant thoughts like toying with Emma's hair, although she would _never_ admit it. She closed her eyes, breathing in the natural smell her home, her room, her sheets, and her visitor carried. Regina found herself curling in closer to the slumbering woman and burying her face in that mess of gold, inhaling deeply as her fingers subconsciously tightened around a few captured strands.

This could be enough, she thought, a content weight in her grasp. This moment right now, if it could repeat on forever, could be enough. Her nose lightly brushed against the back of the blonde's neck. Regina found she had the strong urge to press her lips to the skin mere centimeters from her, but resorted to biting her own lower lip instead. The Ex-Mayor froze. What was wrong with her? Her fingers twitched and tightened their hold. She was not a mushy, affectionate cuddler; she was simply not that type of woman. Yet here she was basically spooning another woman—Emma Swan no less—like one of those emotionally clingy teenagers ABC Family was prancing around on all of their youth shows these days.

Must she remind herself again who this disheveled guest in her bed was: Emma—_the savior_, the stubborn daughter of her natural enemies and biological mother to her own son sleeping down the hall. Regina released her light fancy with the blonde's hair and groaned, before making a move to roll off to her own side, facing away from this breathing predicament clasped under her sheets, when suddenly said predicament shifted not too smoothly. The sheriff jerked her chin into her chest, her blonde mane tousling across her face as her shoulders stiffened, and her body tensed. Was Emma awake? Had she said something? Had she unwittingly been speaking her thoughts aloud?

Before Regina could form 'Miss Swan' on her lips, the sheriff spoke. And then Regina knew. The sheriff was having a nightmare of some sort, and apparently one involving her. Regina almost halted her breathing, straining to hear the quiet yet somehow pained mumbles escaping the blonde's mouth.

"D-don't… does…Regina."

The former Mayor sucked in a breath, holding it in until her lungs felt raw and blood pounded angrily in her ears. She had to know what was going on in Emma's head, specifically what concerning her was floating around in the sheriff's Charming skull. Perhaps if she tried… yes, that might just work! Why not give it a try? Regina mused as her lips pulled to a slight grin. She inched her body closer, pressing almost flush into the blonde's back; from shoulder to knee Regina leaned into the sheriff before propping her head up slightly over the blonde and whispering slowly into her ear, "Miss Swan?"

"Can you hear me, Miss Swan?"

Emma's legs twisted around a bit, her toes digging into the mattress. The sheriff's brow scrunched slightly as Regina watched in confused fascination. She had read an article somewhere on the human subconscious that compared the levels of sleeping states to induced therapeutic hypnosis where one could verbally commune with the supposed sleeper; the outcome had been promising thus far according to the researchers documenting the study. So Regina tried again.

"Miss Swan…" her tongue contemplatively traced the inside of her teeth for a moment, "…Emma?"

The sheriff flinched into herself and the mangled sound of Regina's name that managed to reach Regina's ears nearly made her shake the sheriff awake. Emma had said her name in such anguish Regina had almost been convinced the sleeping woman was in physical distress. "I'm here, Emma. What is it?" Regina lightly brushed a few stray locks from Emma's ear, "Is there something you wish to tell me dear?"

Emma's face contorted, her lips first drew taught, and then her mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to breath pure oxygen as creases began pinching around her eyes. The poor girl seemed to be fighting the words caught in her throat. Regina brushed her fingers across Emma's brow and down her cheek, tracing down her jaw and winding back the path she came. "Shhh, Emma, _breathe_. It's alright, just breathe…" The sheriff's body relaxed somewhat, her face easing into Regina's touch; Regina smiled, as it seemed to do the trick before her smile fell. Emma whimpered, truly _whimpered_ to the point sobbing. The sheriff's breath hitched in her chest once again until she choked the soft admission that Regina had been seeking.

"Does…d-does—it hurt…" Emma breathed. Regina jerked slightly, ceasing her light caresses. Her lips parted, dry, like her mouth suddenly seemed to be. She swallowed as her eyes narrowed, analyzing Emma's face. Regina's eyes darkened as part of her instinctively coiled back like a viper sensing a threatening trap; her mind immediately became overrun, swirling with conflicting images of her mother luring her away from Daniel, of Rumplestiltskin promising her happiness and freedom in the guise of revenge, of Snow and Charming laughing, of Snow using her as a tool to **murder** **her**_** own MOTH**_—Regina gasped in a panic. She rapidly blinked as if her sight had been pierced by a million shards of glass, the haze clouding her present away and glanced down. The tips of her fingers stung…they were wet. Regina followed the reflective trail to its source. Emma? …Was crying?

Regina heard herself, almost breathlessly, ask in a voice not quite her own. "Why?"

"I-I can see t-them…"

"…See what, dear?"

"Scars—Your **scars**."

Regina struggled to keep her voice from wavering. She was Regina Mills after all, Evil Queen of the enchanted forest and a powerful witch of the ages. She could hold her shit together in a conversation with an unconscious Emma Swan… but maybe without direct eye contact; goddesses, why was it so difficult to speak with Emma now? Regina turned her eyes to the partial moonlight coming in from the window. _She's just too damn vulnerable right now that's why…_

"I only have one scar Emma. Remember? It's on my upper lip…" Regina's voice dropped almost to a whisper, " you always kiss at it like you can make it disappear." She swallowed, and returned her gaze to Emma marginally shaking her head back and forth.

"_No_… m-more, there're more. All over your body…I can s-see them but no one else even acts like t-they a-are there…but I see them. I_ can_… Regina…"

A rush of tears coated Regina's fingers as they plummeted down Emma's cheeks. Regina felt herself shaking, or was it Emma that was shaking? At this point Regina couldn't even distinguish the true source, not that it mattered. Her mind fiercely, and guardedly wanted to refute this information, to instructively convey how incorrect the usually arrogant and leather clad sheriff was, and to then skillfully articulate a laced warning underneath it all.

But the words refused to be spoken.

Hesitantly, Regina gently wiped away the stains across Emma's cheeks and nose, placing the softest press of her lips she could muster on the blonde's damp skin. It was a forbidden tender action; Regina knew, but in that moment she didn't care. Emma Swan was crying for her scars, the Evil Queen's scars—Regina Mills' unseen, unspoken, unnoticed scars. Emma could see them, all of them; magically hidden or not. The savior could see _her_.

"…Emma, I—

Thank you."


End file.
